Barbies in Bondage

by Cynthia Harder

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© Copyright 2009 - Cynthia Harder - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-f; transform; doll; plastic; M/f; capture; bond; reluct/cons; X


One morning, Barbie woke up as—Barbie.

Everything in her life had been normal up until then.  She had played with Barbies as a little girl, and had badgered her parents into getting her the Barbie Dream Condo, the Barbie sports car, and the Barbie airplane.  Then she had grown up, gone to college, gotten a predictably boring job, and had forgotten all about her doll collection. 

Until this morning, when she woke up in a very hard bed.  Solid plastic, in fact.  She stood up, and staggered about a little.  Suddenly she realized that her body had been re-shaped.  Now she had two big pointed breasts (with no nipples) and an absurdly narrow waist.  Her legs were incredibly long—almost half her body height.  Her skin was smooth and a uniform beige,. And her hair was thick, blonde, lustrous, and hung  in waves well down the middle of her back. 

Her bedroom had turned sugary pink and white, and one whole wall was missing.  There was an oval mirror in one corner.  It reflected badly, but she could see that she was the image of a Barbie doll.  Luckily, whatever had done the transformation had not made her out of plastic—she had Barbie’s proportions, but her joints worked like a regular persons.

Barbie had learned cool from her namesake doll, so she did not run screaming out the open wall of her room.  Instead, she headed for the closet.  In this case, it was the entire room next door.  Heaped all over were piles of Barbie clothes—stewardess uniforms, play sets, lingerie, evening gowns, power suits, leotards.  Luckily, she didn’t need a bra (or panties, she realized with a shudder)  She found a nice black dress that wasn’t too bad.  All the shoes were high-heeled sandals, but oddly enough they were comfortable.  Dressed, and (permanently) made up, she carefully negotiated the stairs that had not been made to be walked on, and left what she had come to realize was the Barbie Townhouse.

Her plastic heels didn’t click as she walked.  Although she was ‘outside’ when she left the townhouse, the ‘ground’ appeared to be oak flooring, and the ‘sky’ was ceiling white, not blue.  But there was no giant furniture anywhere.  There were some buildings (made of model logs and other building sets), a railroad station, and some toy cars, including a Barbie sports car, but she decided not to try them yet.

She decided that being a doll might be interesting.  She wasn’t hungry, didn’t have to go to the bathroom, and could do anything she wanted.  She was trying to decide what that might be when she heard a noise—the first noise she had heard since awaking.  Coming towards her was some kind of big, plastic thing made of camouflage pattern plastic.  It had big solid wheels, and it lurched about like it had no steering.  It stopped in front of her, and another doll – a man in army clothing—jumped off and pointed a complicated looking weapon at her.

“Are you COBRA?” he demanded.

“Uh—no, I’m Barbie,” she replied, putting her hands up.

The army man didn’t seem impressed by the way this pose made her breasts look.  “Whatever.  You’re my prisoner—turn around”.  Too startled to do other wise, she turned.  In a trice, the army guy had tied her wrists together behind her back with what felt like a twist-tie.  Flimsy it may have been, but it was enough to make her helpless.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, twisting her hands behind her back. 

“Shaddup,” he ordered, slapping a piece of electrical tape over her lips.  Then he boosted her up onto the front of the tank, tied her ankles with another twist-tie, and finally secured her body to the tank with a piece of string.   

Gagged, and feeling rather like a hood ornament, Barbie rode the tank.  They jerked and zigged around the objects that made up this world, running over toy cars with a lurch that would have thrown her under the tires if she hadn’t been tied to the vehicle.  They finally stopped at the log house—by running into it, knocking some of the logs and part of the roof down.  The string had come loose by this time, and the army guy simply lifted her off the tank and carried her into what was left of the log house.  Barbie wasn’t sure this was a good idea—more of those logs looked ready to fall.  The army guy set her onto a short piece of log, and tied her arms to her body.  With his prisoner secure, he moved around the room, peering out the openings and doorway.  Then he came over and removed the tape from her mouth.

“Okay, no more games.  Who are you, and who do you work for?”

“Well, I really am Barbie—“  the army guy snorted.

“All you babes say your name’s Barbie—except for that young one, Scooter or something like that.”

“Well it’s true!  And I woke up like this this morning!

“Well I gotta admit you don’t look like that Cobra bituh—buh—“ He seemed to suddenly have trouble saying the word.  With sudden inspiration, Barbie said, “You ugly Basssstgg—“  She looked startled, then smiled.  “Interesting—we can’t say any bad words.”

“Yeah, well, I still gotta figger out what to do with you.”  He thought for a minute

“You could let me go,” she said hopefully.

“Naaa—you look kinda cute tied up.”  He snapped his fingers.  “That’s it!  C’mon!”  He knelt and untied her ankles, then hoisted her to her feet.  Leading her at a fast high-heeled trot, he took her around the lot house and over to the railroad station.  There were plastic luggage, plastic crossing gates, and a line of railroad track with plastic ties and shiny metal rails.

“Here you go,” he said happily as he got her down onto the track. He used string to tie her body to one rail, and her legs to the other.  “Damsel in distress, Perils of Pauline, all that shiffff—Bah!”  He tied the last knot tight.  Barbie squirmed.  She was now tied to a railroad track, a sexy little bundle waiting for a train that would not be taking her to the glamorous Big City. 

“Hey, wait, this isn’t good…”

“’Course it is,” he said, standing over her.  “It’s just like---AAArrg!..”  From out of the distance came a series of snapping noises and a whistling.  Bullets—no, rubber bands—whizzed by over her bound body, smashing into the army guy.  He staggered, dropped his weapon, and toppled over.  What was this?  Was she going to be rescued?

Apparently not.  From far away, but not that far, came a train horn.  She could feel a vibration in the track under her bound body.  The track was narrow, the rails passing under her shoulders and knees—but how big was the train?  Big enough to cut her in threes?

She began struggling against the strings binding her to the track, the skirt of her black dress riding up her impossibly long thighs as she tried to work her legs loose.  She pulled at the twist-tie binding her hands, until she could feel the wire core.  Nothing came loose.  She could hear the locomotive itself now, the grinding of gears as it rolled towards her.  She arched her back over her bound hands, straining at the cords that secured her upper body to the rail.  Then with a sudden snap, the locomotive appeared from around a curve, its headlight shining down the track, puffs of smoke coming from its stack, the driving rods slapping up and down as it hurtled towards where she lay, bound and helpless….

The cowcatcher of the locomotive seemed to leap up towards her…. then it did bounce into the air, twist sideways, and slide to a halt.  Barbie stopped fighting her bonds, and blinked.  There, just short of where she lay tied to the tracks, the train had derailed.  Smoke trickled from the stack.  She heaved a great sigh of relief, and decided that now would be a good time to faint.

When she awoke, she was back in the Townhouse.  Somehow she had changed clothes.  Now she was wearing a red one-shoulder evening gown that slipped over her figure down to a bunch of ruffles around her lower legs. 

“Well,” she thought as she walked, ruffles rustling, through her closet into her bedroom, “At least I’m safe now.” 

At her bedroom window knelt two army guys.  They jumped up when they saw her.

“Who are you?”

“Spy, probably”

“Quick, fix her up!”  In an instant, they had pushed her down into a pink plastic chair, tied her hands behind the seat back, and had tied her to it with more string .  Before she could protest, a thin piece of black tape was pressed over her mouth.

Bound, gagged, glamour-girl Barbie sat in her Townhouse and hoped the guys with the rubber bands would miss.


Copyright 2009 Cynthia Harder


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